


The Mountains of Heaven

by pozorvlak



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Gen, Geology, Mountains, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pozorvlak/pseuds/pozorvlak
Summary: Wherein the peculiar geology of Skye is explained.





	The Mountains of Heaven

"New boss says he wants something big, Slart. Big statement piece in Central Asia. Something to really tie the continent together, he says."

Slartibartfast groaned. The Earth project was already months behind schedule and millions of Altarian dollars over budget, and the new project manager, just like his three predecessors, was making everything worse by trying to put his own stamp on the design.

"Says he wants suggestions from all the design team by close of play tomorrow. And Slart? No bloody fjords this time, eh?"

"But I _like_ fjords. And I was nominated for an award for them!"

"And I hope you get it, and yes, Norway and New Zealand were very nice work, but don't let it go to your head, mate. Remember: Central Asia. Hundreds of miles from the sea. No bloody fjords."

Slartibartfast turned his attention back to his work, but his heart wasn't in it. The successive waves of rewrites, each one still incomplete when the next one was ordered, had made the quirky little archipelago he'd been working on into a geological nightmare.

"Really tie the continent together" he muttered angrily under his breath.

What even was there in Central Asia to work with? Nothing. Just mile after mile of barren steppe, flat as a pancake. Nice and high, though. Anything up there would tower over the rest of the continent. The roof of the world. A mountain range, perhaps. The Mountains of the Sky. Slartibartfast absently doodled "Sky" in the margin of his blueprint, adding an extra loop and curl to the Y. The Mountains of Heaven. Yes. _Yes_. Jagged peaks of granite - or gabbro? - raking the sky like the teeth of a Denebian megashark. He started to sketch forcefully, his lines becoming harsher and more brutal. Yes, this could _work_.

"Slart. _Slart!_ "

From Frenjelbrith's tone, it wasn't the first time he'd said it.

"Whuh?"

"They need the plans for Scotland down on the shop floor, Slart."

"Oh, yes, right."

" _Now_ , Slart."

"Oh, er, yes, I see."

Slartibartfast handed over the plans he'd been doodling on, and started sketching on the paper underneath, which turned out to be a takeaway menu.

* * *

"Ere, Fred, this don't make no sense."

"Wot don't?"

"Look at this, Fred. What's this spiky volcanic range doing here down in… 'Skye', I think it says. It's nothing like anything else in the archipelago."

"Give that here. Look, there's loads of volcanic rock there. See, big volcanic plug on the Eastern coast of the big island, just a bit further down."

"S'all much older, though."

"Yeah, well, the whole thing's a mess. Look at all these faults. And two-billion year old gneiss up by the surface, next to billion-year old sandstone? Andesite on top of granite on top of quartz diorite? They're having a laugh."

"But look, Fred, this bit matches the big mountain range on the other side of the Atlantic. Real hands-across-the ocean stuff. And all the other stuff is messy and half-competed, but I can see what they were trying to do. But this 'Skye' bit is totally out of keeping with the character of the area."

Fredgrurbljor suppressed a sigh. Bertherpsentesk was a new hire, with HNDs in Orogeny and Psychogeography, and hadn't had the enthusiasm knocked out of him yet. He'd learn.

"I think we should send it back up to Design with a query," said the youth.

"No. No. Listen, Bert, if you send it back up to Design, the whole shop floor shuts down while they argue it out. The firm gets fined a million Altarian dollars for every day this commission's late, and who do you think they'll pin that on? We don't get paid enough to ask questions, and we _certainly_ ," he stabbed a finger at the signature on the blueprint, "don't get paid enough to try to get sense out of _that_ daft old bugger. Just keep your head down and build what they tell you, son. Now, what's it made of?" He inspected the plans. "Aww, not bleedin' gabbro!"

"What's wrong with gabbro, Fred?"

"Nothing, except the gabbro nozzle hasn't worked right since we lent it to the North Atlantic seafloor crew." He shot the offenders a dirty look across the immense construction floor. "Keeps spurting basalt, give you 'orrible pink dikes in your bedrock. Still," he said, shuddering at the sawtooth lines on Slartibartfast's sketch, "it's not like anyone will be daft enough to go up there and check the workmanship."


End file.
